Click-Clack

I recently got a new position at my job and this lead to me being given a different work computer. Actually, no. I was not GIVEN a new work computer. I was told “oh…we have to order you a new computer…use a floater laptop until then…”

“Floater” laptops are these laptops we have available for anyone to use as needed. Often they’re given to temps who need to do some heavy spreadsheet work or used by employees who are going to be in all day meetings.

They are not meant for regular, everyday use.

Fortunately, I happen to be very close with the employee who had claimed dibs on the highest functioning “floater” laptop.

Sadly, the highest functioning floater laptop was built in 1922 and is a dinosaur.

They told me they ordered me a desktop, but it will be a few weeks until it arrives. Until then, I tried to ease the transition by connecting a mouse and separate keyboard to this dinotop. Because yes, I’m used to using the trackpad on my laptop at home. However, I’m also used to said trackpad responding to my touch immediately. Not 30 seconds later.

Today at work my iPod fell silent while it was changing songs and all I could hear was the click-clacking of my keyboard. Since it was an old-fashioned keyboard, it click-clacked a little more than laptop keyboards do, and I was surprisingly shot back to a memory I hadn’t encountered in quite a while.

I was little. I don’t know exactly how old. Maybe 9? I was with my grandmother, Nana, at her office.

Honestly, now, at 24, I can’t imagine a reason why I was with Nana at her office on a weekday. I’m assuming it was summer and I’m assuming my mother had a rare daytime Tupperware party. I’m not sure.

All I remember is being in Nana’s office. Sitting on a chair that swiveled. I was almost bored, until I remembered the typewriter.

I asked my Nana if I could use it, and she emphatically said “yes”. I’m sure she was pleased with finding a way to keep me quiet and entertained while she worked.

I distinctly remember the way those heavy keys felt beneath my fingers. I remember the way they sounded in that otherwise silent office. I remember how clean and crisp each letter would appear on the thick, white paper.

I’m not that old. There were no typewriters in my house growing up. In fact, even at my Nana’s work, most of the official transactions were done via PC. However, for some reason, there was still a typewriter in her office. One she’d let me use.

I hated making mistakes on that typewriter. Though somehow, magically, there was a way to erase letters if you spelled something wrong, you could always still SEE you error if you tried hard enough.

So I usually thought carefully about each word before I typed it. I remember spending what felt like hours sitting at that typewriter. I remember writing stories about unicorns. I was writing fiction before I could honestly tell the difference between fiction and non-fiction. It’s all so vague but I remember it being my favorite way to pass the time.

I never just typed random letters just to hear that magical click-clacking.

I was always writing something. Whether it was my thoughts or a fictional story.